Batman: The Joker's Revenge
by MissScorp
Summary: Batman must race the clock in order to stop the Joker from killing another Robin. T for mild violence and some language. *Complete*
1. Revenge

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… let's get the legal hodge podge out of the way and say I own nothing that looks like it belongs to DC. I do promise to return what does belong to DC in just a lightly played with condition.

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><p>He giggled as he pulled the trigger.<p>

And he cried as he giggled, fat tears which rolled down his gaunt cheeks and pooled in the cracks and crevices of a painted mouth known to be cruel when it smiles and which smiles when he's being cruel.

This was going to be the grandest of finales between him and Batman...

Oh, it promised to be ever so much fun!

He'd gone to an insanely huge amount of trouble to ensure everything was going to be absolutely _perfect_.

It had to be...

_Or else there is going to be hell to pay_, the Joker thought, his verdant eyes glinting in the shadows of the alleyway.

He'd specifically chosen the place where Batman had discovered that foul-mouthed little brat. This was the very alley, in fact, where the adorable little scamp had tried to boost the tires off the Batmobile. The guts of the little darling were _why_ he'd chosen him to become Batman's second Robin. The boy was perfect for the role; he was everything a _good_ Robin should be. He was bold, brash, fearless, ambiguously moralistic and willing to do what ole Bats couldn't: _kill_.

Sure, the boy had given him a wee bit of trouble once he'd been trained up and dumped into those adorable green daisy dukes. It was only to be expected, though. He'd been given the prestigious role as _his_ agent of chaos. It just wouldn't have been seemly for Robin not to live up to his expected role. Besides, watching as his precious Knight tried to turn the little gutter rat into something that even remotely resembled the first Boy Blunder had provided him with hours upon hours of entertainment.

The Joker cackled, one deep, throaty laugh while he recalled the enjoyment he'd received. He'd watched from the sidelines as the boy struggled with Batman's silly principles. He'd seen him willfully defy his darling's edicts and obtain justice the way a real Robin should. He'd gleefully aided his little puppet in circumventing his mentor's orders and wreaking what havoc he could upon Batman's life. More droplets rolled down his cheeks as he recalled how frazzled the big man had been with some of his young protégé's antics. _Oh, it'd been marvelous fun,_ he thought now with another burst of giggling.

_Whoever said you can't enjoy a toy before breaking it had never had a toy that was quite as much fun as my little Robin._

Oh, but the twerp had been more than just a toy. He'd been more than just a fountain of amusement. The boy was to be his coup d'état, his way of overthrowing those pesky little morals his Bats had. Robin was going to be his way of awakening Batman to the truth: that he was just as crazy as the rest of them. The plan had been brilliant; it was _guaranteed_ to be a huge success. He'd finally figured out how exactly he could get around Batman's one little golden rule about not killing. He'd finally discovered just how he could bring Batman down to his level. Kill Robin and Batman was _sure_ to explode.

It was going to be beautiful!

It was beyond brilliant!

It was to be his swansong!

_And yet_, he thought with a frown, _the kid survived_. Robin had somehow, _somehow _managed to survive. How he'd done it, the Joker did not know. He wasn't terribly amused that his puppet had disrupted his plans by not dying as he was supposed to, either. How dare the kid play such a cruel joke! How dare he defy his request to be a good little boy and die. Robin had managed to play a prank upon him. _Him_! The Clown Prince of Crime! Why, who'd ever heard of such a thing? The joke wasn't even all that funny. _I mean really! Faking your own death_? _That's not funny_, he scoffed. No, it was really quite cruel of the brat. _The only honorable thing here is for Robin to die again_, he reasoned as he stuck his still smoking pistol into the waistband of his trousers. Oh, this time the kid was going to _stay_ dead. He'd made sure of it.

Those mangled lips twitched into what could almost be called a _smile_ as he told the bleeding boy, "Not going to be able to fake your way outta this one, kiddo."

Yes, he'd certainly taught the boy a lesson in scene stealing, now, hadn't he? Oh, the Joker knew the rags were gonna label him a monster for killing a kid. Not that he much cared for their opinions. He needed Robin dead if he wanted to push his Bats over the edge. So dead Robin now was. And dead was how he was gonna remain. He giggled as he circled around his masterpiece.

Everything was going as he planned it.

All of his dreams were about to come true.

It just required Robin fulfilling his part as he'd always intended.

No, the Boy Blunder wasn't gonna fool him again! Nope, not this time! Even now the boy's heart was slowing down, his breathing coming in short, tattered rasps. The light was already fading from those pretty blue eyes staring out from behind that fetching little mask. Oh, he could just imagine the look that was going to be on his dear Knight's face when he saw what he'd done. How utterly terrible his _rage_ and grief was going to be! His grin stretched wider as he crouched beside the boy.

"Now," he said to him. "I must be off. You be a good boy and lie here in this nice, dark alley quietly. Oh, and be dead by the time the big man finds you. Can you do that for your Uncle Joker, kiddo? Can you?" he clapped his hands and giggled with glee. "Oh, I'm sure you can! Tootles now, kid! It was nice knowing ya!"

He stood up, scarlet lips stretched wide as he eyeballed his work one final time. Then he slowly started to slowly stroll out of the alley. He felt like dancing, though. Oh, he was in high spirits! He'd taught Robin an unforgettable lesson about stealing _his_ spotlight. He'd made him pay for his cruel little joke. Ah, but the boy was going to finally fulfill his role as his coup d'état. The big man was certainly gonna lose his mind.

Oh, it was going to be brilliant.

It was going to be absolutely perfect.

Batman was going to finally break his golden rule.

He couldn't wait.

His high, keening laugh echoed off the buildings, rocketing out over the air and catching the attention of a masked wanderer who was nearby. A silent guardian who immediately came to see just what it was that was so amusing the Clown Prince of Crime.

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><p>It was dark by nine in Gotham City, and the streets were even more vacant than usual. A curfew had been put into effect after a breakout had occurred at Blackgate a few days prior. Not that anybody was much surprised that a breakout had occurred. Most of them felt that the justice system in Gotham was like a revolving door. Criminals got rounded up, sat in holding while awaiting arraignment, got sentenced to prison, and were back on the streets within a matter of days. Those who needed more adult supervision, who needed to be further removed from society because they were incapable of curbing their criminal activities, were the ones who got out before the lock had clicked on their cell doors. Now Gotham was again being ravaged by a clown hell-bent on playing with his costumed playmate. Whether that playmate wanted to play with him or not was of no matter to a man like the Joker. Anarchy and fiery chaos always rained down<p>

All theater and musical performances had been cancelled in the wake of the Joker's breakout. Gotham Square and all of downtown were silent, restaurants closed and shops locked up for the night. Only a few of the city's movie houses, nightclubs and bars were still open, and there were citizens frequenting them in a stubborn refusal to allow the Joker to steal their only source of amusement from them. At the newly built police headquarters, recently elected Police Commissioner James Gordon stood next to a klieg spotlight, its beam shining a brilliant white beam that shot a symbol in the shape of a bat up into the cloudless sky.

"Switch it off, Jim," Detective Harvey Bullock suggested in a gruff voice. "Batman ain't coming."

"Give him time, Harvey. He'll be here."

"He doesn't wanna talk to ya, Jim," Bullock replied. "Ever since the last Robin was killed, he ain't wanted to talk with much of anybody. And God help who or what gets in his way. That he hasn't killed anybody at this point is amazing ta me."

Silently, Gordon was forced to agree with the detective's assessment. Batman had changed since the second Robin was killed. He'd become more reckless and ruthless, more brutal in his apprehension of all types of criminals. There had been a few questionable _accidents_ and more than a few petty thieves who had ended up with more than a few broken bones. Sometimes Gordon found himself amazed at how none of the criminals ended up dead with how battered they ended up getting.

It was a return to the Batman he'd first met so many years ago—the angry, brutal and vengeful man who'd swoop out of the shadows and slam a thug's head into the concrete without caution or care. Gordon was trying to give his friend some leeway, and some understanding. Losing a partner was a hard enough fact to deal with. Losing a partner who was so young, and a son at that? It was enough to drive even a man like Batman to his breaking point. Gordon reached up and took off his eyeglasses, pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers in hopes it would reduce the pressure building there. Bullock saw the stress and fatigue and reached up to clap a heavy hand upon that stooped shoulder.

"What Batman needs?" he said to his longtime partner and friend. "What he really needs? Is that girl of yours to come home." He pushed his fedora back on his head and glanced up at the sky. "That kid is what pulled him outta this phase the last time. Well, her and the first Robin. They are what saved him."

"Raya's not ready to come home." Jim turned world-weary blue eyes towards him. "Harvey, she can't even enter the damned city without falling to pieces." He raked his fingers through his steadily graying hair. "I've only seen anxiety disorders this severe in army personnel."

Harvey blew out a heavy breath. He hadn't known they were quite that severe. "Berkeley did a lot of damage ta the kid."

"And the son of a bitch was able to buy his way out of a prison sentence." Jim heard the raw bitterness in his voice even as Bullock did, but he didn't apologize for it.

"Berkeley is gonna find out she's back, Jim," he spoke as gently as he could. "And he's gonna go after her. Ya know that he will."

"What do you suggest I do, Harvey? This is more than just my niece we're talking about here." He turned to stare pensively out over the city. "Raya is as much my daughter as Barbara is. I want to shield her from whatever is out there that could hurt her. The same as I do Barbara."

Harvey squeezed his shoulder. It was not often that Jim admitted aloud that he saw the girl as more than his niece. Then again, there were just some things that did not need explaining.

"Protecting our kids is what every father wants ta do, Jim."

"I know," Jim said on a heavy sigh. "I know it is."

"Jim, I know ya wanna protect the sprocket. I do, too. But…" God, was there any word more terrible to say than _but_? He didn't think so. "The Joker is running amok through the city. We need Batman ta help us stop him."

"I know we do…" Jim said slowly. "But we may not have Batman. Not right now. Not until he is able to pull himself back together."

"That's why we need the sprite. We both know that if'n anybody can pull the Dark Knight out of the hole he's in, it's her."

Gordon ran a weary hand over his whiskered face. "You're asking me to break a promise to my child, Harvey."

Yeah, Harvey understood that he was effectively asking Jim to break a promise he'd made to his kid. However, choosing between keeping Gotham safe or upholding a promise made to the sprocket were not distinct from the other. For him, revealing Raya's location to Batman was all a matter of doing what was necessary to not only ensure the safety of the city, but to save the tortured Dark Knight as well.

"We need her ta come home, Jim."

"I know," Gordon stated on one long breath. "I know we do. I'm just afraid of what the consequences will be if she does."

"I'm thinking about what the consequences might be if'n she doesn't."


	2. Shoulda Known

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><p>He really shouldn't be surprised that she was gone. He really should have realized what the daft woman was about when she'd started blowing off their training sessions and turning down going with him on patrols. <em>Swamped with schoolwork and work related cases, my ass, Raya<em>, Dick Grayson thought as he stared at the yellow piece of paper in his hand.

'Gone to Gotham_,_' it read, 'don't follow. I am going to get over my cowardice even if it kills me.'

It was a note penned by a woman incapable of accepting how her fears did not make her weak. Raya was anything _but_ weak. Suspicious, emotionally crippled, dealing with an anxiety disorder stemming from traumatic events she'd endured as a child and fanatically obsessed with seeing the man responsible for them brought to justice, yes. But weak? Nope, that was absolutely the last thing she was. Not that she believed him whenever he told her that. Oh no, not Raya Kean. That silly woman would merely smile, kiss him on the forehead, and tell him how he was looking at her through biased eyes. Which, sure, he was, but that was beyond the point. She was not weak. Period.

Dick sighed; one long, frustrated breath before reading her note again. He knew why she was pushing herself so hard: _Bruce_. They both were able to see that Batman was steadily unraveling at the seams. They'd watched the news reports, and read the articles depicting the lengths that he was going in order to bring even the lowliest of Gotham's criminals to justice. Broken bones, contusions and concussions were on an ever increasing rise. Bruce was walking a very fine line, and coming closer and closer to crossing it. It may have been eleven months since the brutal murder of Jason Todd—the second Robin—but Batman was still grieving, was still blaming himself for what happened. Blame that he shared with Bruce.

For if Bruce Wayne was guilty of the fall of Jason Todd, then so was Richard Grayson. His shoulders stooped and his head hung as the weight of his guilt settled heavy upon his shoulders. It was the truth, however. It'd been him who had given Jason one of his old Robin uniforms. It'd been him who'd encouraged the teenager to do his best, to try his hardest, and to always listen to his gut. And it'd been him who'd told Bruce, when he'd doubted his decision to make the teen his partner, that it would be good for Batman to have another Robin.

"Batman needs Robin," he'd told him. "And you need someone to keep you from brooding alone in your cave."

Without his interference, Jason Todd might never have become Robin.

And without his becoming Robin, Jason Todd might still be alive today.

_No_. He couldn't let himself think like that. There was no guarantee that Jason would be alive today. There was never any guarantee in their line of work about survival. They were human, they could be killed. If Raya was there she would tell him that it was just the grief and guilt talking anyway. She'd say there was no way that any of them could have known; much less predicted what the Joker had decided on doing.

"He's mercurial, bird boy," she'd say. "He does things upon whim. It's part of his madness."

She'd also tell him he couldn't blame himself for what happened in that warehouse, that he hadn't known about what was going on because Bruce had not informed him of the situation and so couldn't hold himself as being responsible when he wasn't there to stop the events from occurring. And she'd point out, because the woman was wretched, that the Joker would never have gotten his hands upon Jason had the teen not chosen to defy Bruce's orders and gone in search of his mother on his own. Yes, she'd say all that and he'd agree because he would know she was right. However, he still blamed himself for the kid's death. Just as he still blamed himself for his parents' deaths.

The shadow of a smile creased his lips as he heard a familiar voice whisper in his mind about how he was becoming more and more like Bruce every day. Course, if Raya was here, he'd tease her about the pot calling the kettle black. If either of them were like Bruce Wayne, it was Raya. Of course, she'd just make that adorable little _ffff_ sound of hers before reminding him about how she understood how clouded emotions were dangerous, and would only come back to haunt him the more that he repressed them. He looked again at her note. _That's why you are killing yourself, isn't it_? _You know Bruce is haunted right now by Jason's death and doing everything he can to avoid dealing with his emotions_. Not that that came as any type of surprise to Dick. Bruce never liked talking about the things burrowing around inside that brain of his, and tended to bury himself in work whenever his rage and grief grew to be more than he could bear.

But he was pushing himself hard, harder than Dick had ever seen him push himself before. It was as if Bruce believed that the only way in which he could atone for the death of Jason was through destroying himself. The more risks he took, the more times he endangered his own life; it was all being done with a singular purpose in mind. Dick was beginning to suspect that whatever was driving Bruce was something that went deeper than just Jason's death. There was something else driving Bruce to take all these chances.

The answer flashed into him, warm and bright. _Tim_. It was his taking of Timothy Drake as Robin that was making Bruce act so irrationally. Bruce was feeling as if he'd somehow betrayed Jason by accepting Tim as his new partner. It explained why he'd chosen to take down Ra's al Ghul and his League on his own, engaged Bane in a brutal battle which had nearly seen him defeated, and beat the Riddler almost within an inch of his life. Bruce Wayne was not only blaming himself for the death of Jason Todd, he was condemning himself for allowing Timothy Drake to replace the fallen teen as his new partner.

_But you know that, don't you, Rae_? He again asked his absent partner and best friend. _You know he is on a collision course with the Grim Reaper. And you're trying to be there to catch him when he falls. Same as he was there to catch you when you fell._ With a sigh, Dick crumpled the note and tossed it into the waste basket before he went to pack some clothing and his armor into an overnight bag. Whether he liked it or not, he was headed home to Gotham. _The things I do for you, Rae_, he thought as he zipped the bag and left his apartment.

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><p>The Joker saw the black SUV, parked at the curb, and—was this great or what?—a masked figure had just dropped down at the entrance into the alley he was trying to exit. <em>Well, well<em>, he thought as he fit himself into a space between two buildings. _Who do we have here?_

She was definitely not that annoying Batharpy his King had had following him around for a while. Oh no, this little beauty had hair as black as his Knight's suit, and eyes a darker shade of green than his own. He watched as she slowly crept towards where he'd left his greatest masterpiece lying in an ever growing pool of blood. He caught her scent as she passed by him, and the fragrance was jasmine and nerves. Locks twisted, and the doors of his memories opened and reminded him of a figure who'd looked much like this one, who'd had that exact same scent. Ah, yes, he remembered this particular little lovely now. She was the first Boy Blunder's gal pal. She was the one who came before the obnoxious red-headed rat. She was the twit who'd prevented him from creating his masterpiece the first time around.

He'd yet to thank her for her interference in that.

The Joker's eyes glinted with glee over being given a new toy so soon after he'd discarded his old one, and his mangled lips formed a smile so chilling that even the spiders and rats scurried off in search of warmer places to hide. It was going to be a matter of perfect timing. Oh, but he did so love this sort of a challenge. The Clown Prince slipped down the alley after her, getting closer, closer, until he was just a few inches away…

Then he slipped right by her and continued on his way out of the alley, giggling softly.

Oh, yes, this was shaping up to be the grandest of finales between him and the Bats...

It was promising to be ever so much fun!

Kill Robin and his Knight was sure to explode with his rage and his grief.

Ah but kill Robin _and_ his Fenix?

Batman would go insane.

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><p>The first thing she smelled was the blood. The slightly sweet, coppery stench rose up to tantalize her nostrils, curdled her stomach, and made her retch. Other smells quickly rose up to mingle with the stench of blood: rotting garbage, salt air, and the smell of rotted wood. Raya Kean felt a shift deep within herself. Felt the <em>Fenix <em>slowly rising to the surface. Every one of her muscles went taut as razor wire. Every sensation she felt was magnified. Every sound she heard was amplified. It was a nearly seamless slide from _prey _into _predator._

She heard a high, keening laugh ricochet off the brick and concrete walls surrounding her. _What is the Joker doing here? _she mused while using the optics in her mask to scan the alley for signs or clues that would explain what the self-professed Crime Prince was up too. Her filters zeroed in on a splash of blood sprayed across the side of the building. She frowned her dismay as she followed the trail along the ground to where it stopped. Dismay, though, gave way to panic and fear as she saw just who the blood had come from.

"Tim." Raya scrambled over a pile of garbage, raced to the young superhero's side. "Oh, God, no," she whimpered. "No no no no..."

There was a steadily growing puddle of blood gathering beneath the small figure. The front of his tunic was caked in blood. Swearing, she rest her fingers against his throat, checking for a pulse. It was thin and reedy, but strong enough still that it gave her hope. She wouldn't really know how bad the wound was until she could see it in better light. She also needed fresh soap and water to wash away the worst of the blood before she could assess the damage properly.

Despite the hated weakness of them, Raya felt tears, pure emotion, gather in her eyes and course down her ashen cheeks. She knew that her emotions were being exacerbated by her feelings for the masked teen. Tim was her baby bird. He was her little brother. Her best friend. Her partner. He'd become hers the night that Crane staged his Nightmare on Fear Street._ I should have been here to protect him,_ she thought bitterly. _I should have been here to keep that stinkin' clown from hurting another Robin-from hurting _my _Robin, in fact._

Not for the first time (and she doubted it would be the last), Raya chastised herself for her cowardice. Even now panic and dread churned in her gut. How could she have so failed _him?_ Protecting Tim was supposed to be _her _job. Wasn't it her job to bring Robin home safe? Hadn't she accepted that as part of her Fenix duties? A simpleton could have done a much better job than she had. The pressure in her chest was making her head light, but she forced herself to think, to analyze her choices and select the best course of action. _Tim needs Alfred, _she told herself. But to get the critically injured teen to Alfred, she had to go through... _Bruce._

Yet again she fought an internal battle between ending the separation that was between her and Bruce and the anxiety that always rose up to choke her whenever she thought of coming face-to-face with the Wayne patriarch. Just thinking about using her comlink, about calling Batman here, was enough to have panic and dread churning in her belly. Even as she ordered herself to breathe slow and steady, the air whistled in her lungs, clogged there until she was gulping for it.

Sweat ran cold and clammy upon her feverish skin, and she could smell her own escalating fear. The edges of her vision blurred and she shot a terrified look over her shoulder, half expecting to see that pointy-eared figure standing over her. Her fingers clenched in Tim's tunic, seeking strength and comfort from the injured boy, and she forced herself to breathe in and out, envisioning the panic slowly start to retreat.

Then, and only then did she reach into a hidden pocket of her bodysuit and retrieve the small cell phone that Dick insisted she carry for emergency situations. Calling _Bruce_ was clearly not an option. So she decided to call the next best person: James Gordon. Her uncle would help her get Tim home. He would help her with tending his injuries. _He can call Batman,_ she realized as she flipped open the phone and dialed her uncle's number.


	3. I am the Night

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you.

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><p><em>Become the night<em>.

That was what Master Zou told him after his travels led him to train at the legendary monk's knee. It was the first lesson the Grand Master of the Brotherhood of Shadow said he needed to learn before he could move on to becoming a true warrior of the night. How Zou had known-indeed, how the Grand Master had even come to suspect just what it was that Bruce planned on doing with all the training he'd been collecting over the course of his time abroad, he did not know. Somehow, though, Zou had known and so granted to him the greatest piece of knowledge he could ever hope to obtain. He'd learned much while training with Master Zou, but nothing more crucial than those three simple words.

_Become the night_.

The phrase flickered into his mind as he barreled down a service road, en route to the mammoth compound known as the _Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane_. Arkham (as the asylum was commonly called), sat upon an island located just off the coast of Gotham City. The facility was only reachable by a long stretch of road that was without working streetlights. Both sides of the street were lined with leafless trees that danced like skeletons in the warm breeze. The surrounding field was vacant of any other type of vegetation, and deprived of anything to block out the eerie chill slithering its way across the fractured pavement.

Batman hated the long drive to the asylum. He imagined the highway to hell was a shorter road than this one. He was being driven away by his ever growing distrust of the asylum and its staff. Within the cavernous walls was a cognitively demanding environment where constant vigilance over staff and patients was a necessity. The asylum's guards, doctors, and various other staff kept as close an eye upon their diverse colony as they could. The closed-circuit cameras posted throughout the compound were state of the art. Guards went on constant patrols, and every form of communication was closely monitored. Yet even with all the technological modifications that the new Warden had made to the asylum's security system, there was still a large number of his population who required even more strict measures in order to keep them from escaping.

_And then there were some_, he thought, his lips peeling back in a wordless snarl that the darkest pit in the asylum could not seem to contain. No matter what provisions were instituted, no matter what precautions were taken, the Joker always managed to find a way in which to escape. It became something of a jest between Alfred and Dick Grayson about how the Joker tended to break into Arkham whenever he needed a vacation, and out again whenever he decided he was bored and wanted to play with his pointy-eared BFF. Batman saw it as another of the clown's manipulative techniques at work. Whenever the Joker broke out of Arkham was just another of his staged acts meant to make him the center of attention. His last breakout had resulted in Gotham being turned into a playground dominated by the prisoners the Clown Prince released from Blackgate.

He'd done it just for the sheer shits and giggles of it.

Same as he'd murdered a sixteen-year- old boy for the simple thrill of it.

Everything the Joker did was for his own amusement and whimsy.

_Not anymore, _he decided, foot stomping down on the gas pedal. _I'm going to put the Joker away once and for all tonight_.

"Become the night," Zou told him. He'd become the night. He was the shadow lurking around every corner. He was the one the bad guys had nightmares about. He was the seeker of justice, the guardian of truth, the dark avenger of the wronged. For ten years now, he'd been the night's warrior. Until eleven months ago he'd had no regrets in dedicating his service to the night. Then the very night which he'd so faithfully served horrifically failed him. It was the night who failed to predict what was going to happen after Jason reached Ethiopia. It was the night that had not whispered to him about how the Joker was also in Africa. The night veiled his skeletal frame from view. The night willfully kept secret about how the knave was planning a deed most foul in order to push his Knight into breaking his one golden rule. It was the night who failed to reveal to him the events that were about to unfold in that damned warehouse. It was the night who failed to tell him about what was to happen to his Robin- his soldier, his protégé, his _son_. And it was the night that'd failed to help him prevent those events from occurring.

Become the night?

_I am the night_, he thought savagely, his gloved hands clenching upon the steering wheel. Unbidden memories superimposed themselves upon his conscious mind, taunting him in the clown's lubricious voice, and laughing at him with that high-pitched cackle that was his. Batman saw again the explosion that had ripped apart the velvet curtain lying over the dilapidated warehouse as if it was little more than a bed sheet. Saw the serpentine tendrils of smoke and flame slithering up towards the starless sky in a macabre dance. He saw himself running. He heard his breath rasping in his throat, vising in his chest. His thoughts were whirling now as much as they had then. Too late, he was too late. He'd always be too late. Then he saw Jason Todd as he'd last seen him: his still warm, lifeless body draped over his arms like a rag, his eyes forever closed in sleep.

_No_.

_This was not the night's fault_, he realized as his breath hissed out from between his teeth.

_It's my fault, _he thought_. I got Jason killed. I own that. I'll carry that like I carry everything else. It's my fault that the Joker was able to get his hands upon Jason. It's my fault for not seeing, not suspecting that he was in danger. I failed him. Failed as a father. Failed as Batman. I wasn't there when he needed me. And I will carry that guilt, and that regret with me, forever_.

_No_. He couldn't dwell on the death of Jason Todd. He was gone and he couldn't bring him back. It served no purpose to dwell on what he could not change. He had to get on with his life. He forced his mind back to the present. The Joker had (again) broken out of Arkham more than an hour and a half ago. He had to stop him before he could unleash whatever hell he'd plotted during his latest stay in the asylum. That was the reality in which he needed to remain. He tapped a button on the steering wheel and placed a call to Commissioner Gordon.

"Gordon," he heard him say.

"I'm on my way to Arkham," he said curtly. "Has there been any sign of the Joker?"

"Negative," Gordon replied. There was a sigh and Batman knew he was not going to like whatever it was that he was about to say. "Even though that imbecile Sharp has no damned clue as to how exactly the clown escaped his cell, I have a feeling the Joker has a partner who aided him with his escape. There's footage showing someone skipping down the hall right before the Joker was released from his cell."

"Where was Quinn when this all went down?"

There was a burst of static and he could hear Gordon barking out orders. Then he said, "Quinn was supposed to be in her cell at the time. How she managed to get out is another of those things that our new Warden has no damned idea about."

"I'll figure it out," Batman rasped before disconnecting the call.

A few moments later, Arkham Asylum loomed larger than life in front of him. Every pointed arch, ribbed vault, and flying buttress was made even more ominous set as they were among the skeletal figures that danced in the twilight. The wheels of the Batmobile spewed gravel as he drove through the massive iron gates. He immediately spied a group of doctors, asylum staff and guards mingling on the front steps of the Intensive Treatment building while S.W.A.T and other officers swarmed inside. He parked the Batmobile by a row of EMS vehicles and was about to step from the car when a soft chime alerted him to an incoming call. Only four people knew this private number, and he'd just spoken to one of them. Could it be Alfred then? He pressed a button with his thumb in order to answer.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"Bruce?" He heard Dick Grayson ask hesitantly. _Of course it's you_, was Bruce's first thought. Bitterness settled like a lead weight in the pit of his belly. Had it been a month since they'd last spoken and Dick lectured him about his methods and the lengths he was going to bring the criminals to justice? He couldn't remember. He didn't care. He was in no mood to be lectured about his methods when his oldest son hadn't even seen fit to come home for Jason's funeral. His eyes flashed feral in the darkness of the car's interior.

"I'm busy at the moment, Dick," he said curtly. "Is what you need to say to me important? Or can it wait?"

"It's important if you still give a damn about someone who thinks of you as a father."

"That's rather funny coming from someone who walked out on his father."

"I walked out on you?" There was a raw note of anger in the younger man's voice. Then Dick sighed. "Look, I know things are screwed up between you and me right now. However, this isn't about us. Or about the problems that are between us."

"Then why…" Bruce began but Dick cut him off.

"Raya is in Gotham, Bruce."

It felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His breath whooshed out and his head spun.

"What?" he rasped. "Raya is here in Gotham?"

"Yes," was Dick's somber reply. "She's there in Gotham."

"Why?" Bruce snarled. "Why is she here? Why has she even bothered to come back? I thought she was happier being away from us?"

There was a sigh and Bruce could just imagine the unhappy look that was on the younger man's face. Dimly he wondered just when their relationship had deteriorated to the point where they were more adversaries than they were partners—or father and son. An ache swelled in his chest and his eyes were suspiciously blurry. He desperately wanted to bridge this gap that was between him and Dick. He just didn't know how. It seemed like everything he said, that he did, came out wrong.

"She's been living here with me for the last eleven months." A fresh surge of fury erupted, but he tamped it down and waited for the explanation that would justify exactly why this had been kept a secret from him. A part of him, the last remaining rational part, could not help but feel a small trickle of pride for how well his son had learned to mask his tracks and movements. He'd come so far, learned so much and continued to do so even now that he was on his own. The other part of him, the parental part which was being gnawed on like a bone, wanted to reach through the phone and grab him by the throat. "She came home after..." Dick paused, sighed. "Look, Bruce, none of that matters right now. She's in Gotham. And if she's not curled up in a ball while panic rips her soul to shreds…"

"What do you mean _while panic rips her soul to shreds_?" Bruce interjected in a low hiss. He heard a horn blare and then Dick swearing, foully. Where had his son picked up that language, he wondered? Was it something he'd learned during his times with the Titans? Or something he'd picked up since striking out on his own? "Richard?"

He heard another low sigh and could well imagine that those blue eyes were waves of indecision. "She has post-traumatic stress, Bruce. Stemming from…"

"The night you were shot by Matthew Berkeley."

"Yes."

Bruce was silent while he imagined the emotional hell his imp had to be going through. Nightmares, hallucinations, panic attacks, difficulties sleeping, avoiding the places and the people who incite reminders of the traumatic experience were just the start of the symptoms associated with PTSD. A light clicked on within the embittered hero. "That's why she's stayed away, isn't it? Gotham is a trigger point for her."

Again Dick's answer was a soft, "Yes."

"Why is she coming home if she's still dealing with this?"

"You really have to ask that, Bruce?" Dick snorted a laugh. "What? Is it that hard to believe that Raya would sooner destroy _herself_ in order to save _you_ than save _herself _from suffering any more pain and misery than she already has?"

"Why are you calling to tell me this now?" Bruce demanded. "Why didn't you call me as soon as you knew she was back? Why not call and say that she is living with you in Blüdhaven. Why have you waited all this time before admitting you knew she was home?"

"Honestly?" There was a pause. "I was protecting her."

"Protecting her?" There was surprise as much as raw pain coating his voice. "Protecting her from what?"

"You have to realize that what happened the night I was shot left some deep psychological scars upon Raya..." Dick began but Bruce cut him off in a snap.

"Protecting her from what?" he asked with his last ounce of patience. "And try telling me the truth this time, Richard."

"You," came Dick's disgruntled answer. "I was protecting her from _you_."

His eyebrows feathered up beneath his cowl at that.

"Why are you protecting Raya from me?"

_Why would you even think that you need to protect her from me_? was what he wanted to ask. However the answer that he received rocked him to the core of his being.

"You are one of her biggest triggers, Bruce."

"Wha…"

"It's all part of her disorder," Dick explained. "Anything that even remotely reminds her of Gotham, of you, of her father is enough to cause her to have a massive panic attack."

"How do you…"

"Know?" There was a wealth of bitterness in Dick's voice now. "Who do you think is there every time one of her attacks sets in? Who do you is there to talk her out of that hypersensitive state? And who do you think has been there to comfort her every time she wakes up, screaming? I've been there through it all, Bruce."

_She's afraid of me_. The knowledge of that, the hard truth of it, hurt a hell of a lot worse than being slammed into a concrete girder did. He saw Commissioner James Gordon, his ginger colored hair tousled by the breeze, standing on the steps of the Intensive Treatment building with Detective Harvey Bullock. He could tell that Bullock had spotted him by the slight squinting of the man's eyes and the way he flicked his cigarette to the ground. Suddenly, he was presented with a quandary: stay and help with the search for the Joker, or go and find the girl who was somewhere in this city, possibly locked in the midst of a massive panic attack.

He didn't even have to stop and consider his options.

"Where is she, Dick?" he asked as he pressed the button to fire up the Batmobile's turbine engine once more. "Where would she feel the most comfortable at this moment?"

"If she's anywhere," Dick said slowly. "It would be somewhere in Crime Alley. She's managed to navigate parts of that and the docks without it causing her to have too many problems. However…" There was another horn blaring, and Dick was swearing before he gritted, "There's something you need to take into consideration before you dash off in search of her."

"And what's that?"

"You can't approach her as you want to approach her." There was a second's pause. "She's not just some scared kid who needs Batman to shield her from the storm this time. She's not just mildly damaged because of a traumatic event. Raya's broken inside. And she's as fragile as that crystal vase you have in your bedroom. You can break her if you aren't careful."

He instantly bristled. "I think..."

This time Dick cut him off with a firm, "Bruce?" A pause. "If you barrel in and cause Raya to break?" There was a blade of steel coating the younger man's voice and reminding him that Dick was no longer a boy, but a man full grown. "You'll answer to _me_."

It was not, Bruce knew, a threat.

It was a _promise_.


	4. Lil Bit Of Anarchy

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you.

To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

I want to thank NeoMiniTails for helping me with this chapter! Very appreciated, Neo! :)

* * *

><p>So, the little lovely was calling for help, was she? Well, it was most definitely <em>not<em> the help that he wanted her to call for. _I mean, really_, the Joker pouted as he watched her slip her cell phone into a pocket of that adorable spandex suit she was wearing. Calling the cops? Who does that nowadays?

Didn't she know that the cops were not who he wanted to play with? No no no. It was _Batsy_ that he wanted to come save the day! It was his love that he wanted the sumptuous twit to call! Did she _not_ understand that he needed the big guy to see his work of art? Did she not realize that he needed his Knight to be here, watching while he chased her into the gaping maw of death? Did she not see that the only way he'd finally win this game he'd been playing with the Bats for the last fifteen years was to not only kill Robin...but his sweet little Fenix as well? A Cheshire grin spread across his face.

Oh, this was going to be the epic conclusion of the love story between him and his dear Dark Knight...

Yes, tonight was going to be the grand finale, the big show, the main event!

He'd really gone to an exceptional amount of trouble to ensure that everything was going to be absolutely perfect.

And it was going to be perfect...

_Or there'll be hell to pay_, the Joker thought, his hypnotic eyes glinting in the shadows of the backseat. Nothing, nothing was going to stop him from having the last laugh tonight! Not some little birdie, not a bothersome female, and most certainly not the cops!

"Boys," he said in a jovial tone. "Let's introduce the Fenix to a little bit of anarchy."

"Yes, boss," the three masked goons seated in the SUV with him replied in unison.

* * *

><p>It was something rarely seen in Gotham, a police convoy, with two unmarked cars leading three SWAT vans, ten patrol vehicles, all speeding down the freeway, past roadblocks which had been setup to keep traffic from using particular side streets and on-ramps. Suddenly, a truck lumbered to a stop at an intersection where a police officer was holding up traffic in order to allow the convoy (once it reached him) to pass through. Officer Anthony Cavelli, fresh out of the Police Academy, raced out from his post behind a white girder and approached the cab of the vehicle.<p>

"Hey, buddy, ya gotta wait same as everybody else," he said to the driver right before he took a shotgun blast to the face. He was dead before his body even hit the ground.

* * *

><p>The area surrounding the GCPD building, in the Burnley District, was all but deserted, most of the businesses being closed for the night, and the former police headquarters used for nothing more than storage at this point. James Gordon had no trouble whatsoever in navigating his unmarked car down the narrow cobblestone streets. He wasn't alone in this after dark midtown race. He was in the lead of a half-dozen patrol cars and one riot vehicle. Sirens were howling like a pack of wolves and the swirling lights cast long shadows as they swept past the darkened homes and businesses.<p>

"Think we'll get ta the kid before Batman?" Bullock grunted from the passenger seat.

"I don't know if we will get there ahead of him or not, but I'm damn sure gonna try, Harvey!"

Gordon screeched around a corner, hitting the on-ramp of the highway and weaving in and around what little traffic happened to be on the bridge at that moment. He saw cars on fire ahead, blocking both sides of traffic. Three clown-faced henchmen opened fire with the machine guns they held in their meaty paws. Gordon's jaw clenched, and he was half tempted to speed up and push his way through their blockade. Reality set in, though, and he forced himself to slam to a halt. Bullets pinged and slammed into the tires, blasted off the passenger side mirror and shattered the back glass.

"Sons of bitches!" Bullock snarled, returning fire. One of the goons, screaming as a bullet pierced his upper arm, dropped to the ground. "Pansy ass," the veteran detective muttered.

"Harvey, come on!"

He and Gordon quickly exited the car and got behind the other police vehicles for protection. They were ready for whatever it was that the Joker had in store for them. Anarchy and violence were the clown's calling card. Nothing he did at this point was going to shock the veteran police detectives. They were quickly joined by ten fully rigged riot officers, and a handful of uniformed officers. All of them wore grim, set expressions. It was just another night in Gotham to them. Another night, and one more round of chaos with a pasty-faced maniac.

"I want everyone to stay close," Gordon snapped in a cool, crisp voice. He was like a General leading his troops into battle, cool and calm. "Gutierrez, take a handful of men and try to get on the other side of these animals. Donnelly, you and Davidson go right with the rest. I want the rest of you on me. I don't have to tell you to be careful, you know that. I will tell you that this is just the start of the Joker's games. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," they all said as one.

* * *

><p>A double-decker Gotham City Express bus pulled off an exit ramp and stopped in the middle of Balfour Road. <em>It's the same damn thing everyday<em>, Terence thought mulishly. Five and a half hours in the morning, another five and a half in the evening. He drove the same route, everyday, for five days of the week. It was the same group of faces, the same destinations, rain or shine. He could see his usual way back to the yard was being blocked by a line of police vehicles. Their lights were flashing and forecasting an ominous warning. _Just another night in Gotham_, Terence thought with a despondent sigh.

* * *

><p>Tom Laurel looked over to where his bud slept in the passenger seat, unfazed by the detour and added stress. Nothing much could bug Oscar at that moment, though. A thirteen hour shift in a crappy little office just had taken it outta the poor guy. Dude could never catch a break. His ride left early - apparently on some sort of family emergency. They'd laughed because they'd known it was a big, fat lie. The "family emergency" was really that his wife was out of town and he wanted to spend the weekend canoodling with his secretary. <em>Cheatin' asshole<em>. Tom padded his fingers on the steering wheel to _The Enemy_ and watched as the bus came to a stop in the middle of Balfour Road.

"What the hell..." he muttered.

But there was a tingle at the base of his spine. Tom found himself getting jittery. He knew that it was illogical, but stupid shit happened every day in this city. "Dammit..." He mumbled as he reached for a cigarette. "Shoulda stayed in Chicago. Ain't as crazy as this place is."

He fumbled the lighter and it landed behind his right heel. He leaned over to retrieve it and when he came up, he saw a blonde haired woman standing at the corner, her figure provocatively displayed in a latex nurses outfit, her face painted up like some colorful mimes. He thought her a figment of his exhausted mind. It had to be... _right_? No way in hell a woman would walk around in that getup. Not in this morally ambiguous city!

Then he spotted the chunky figure in orange prison garb standing on a fire escape behind her, an RPG held up against his shoulder.

"What the hell?" Tom managed to yell less than a second before the RPG slammed through the front windshield of the bus. The bus exploded, bringing Oscar awake with a start.

"Holy fuck!" he screamed. "Get us the hell outta here, man!"

Tom tossed the car into reverse and stomped on the gas.

Neither saw the RPG swoop through the night towards them.

* * *

><p>The bus burst into flames, completely blocking both sides of the street and blocking off the convoy from using the side access that had been setup for their use. The driver of the other SWAT vehicle, unable to swerve and avoid the burning bus could do nothing but scream as he plowed head first into the vehicle. He was knocked unconscious upon impact. The van exploded less than a minute later, flames doing a macabre dance with thick plumes of smoke as they leapt into the velvet sky.<p>

In the cab of the second SWAT van, the driver was busily swerving to miss the fiery roadblock and listening to a voice crackle through the radio: "All units be advised. Obstruction at Balfour and Davidson. All remaining units should take the Harbor exit."

"The Harbor exit?" he snarled at the radio. "Are ya freaking kidding me? We're gonna be sitting ducks down there!"

The remaining cars, in the convoy, barreled off the freeway at L St. and 3rd and swerved to drive back underneath the highway in order to take a different on-ramp. A dump truck rolled from out of nowhere and slammed into the rear vehicles, shoving them out of the way before chasing after the SWAT vehicle.

"What the hell!?" Thomas McCready shouted as the dumpster of death came steamrolling up behind him. He felt a bump, tried to keep the van driving straight. Knew that he was next on the list of intended victims. Already the Joker had hit double digits in his murder spree. "Shit!"

He was sent into a tailspin when the truck slammed into the vehicle's back bumper yet again, propelling it forward.


	5. Where Are You?

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you.

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!

I want to thank NeoMiniTails for helping me with this chapter! Very appreciated, Neo! :)

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><p>In front of the convoy, a second truck smashed into the SWAT van, shoving it into the side of a building and wedging it between a wall of solid concrete and iron. The truck then pulled up alongside the armored van. McCready could see the maniacal glee in the other driver's eyes. Then the side door of the truck opened and he saw a painted freak in a purple clown wig brandishing an assault rifle with a sick grin. <em>Shit<em>, was his only thought as he tossed the van into reverse. The vehicle refused to budge, the front tires held fast in a never ending spin cycle because of the sludge dumping out onto the ground in a flurry. The thug opened fire with wild abandon, bullets pelting the side of the armored vehicle and leaving small holes in the black plating. One bullet shattered the passenger side window and found a home in Thomas's throat.

Inside the back of the van, the officers flinched at the bullet fire and lifted their guns as they sat waiting for whomever was stupid enough to open those doors first.

"Think the Joker is behind this?" one asked.

Another scoffed. "When's the clown not at the head of the mayhem engulfing the city?"

"Where's Batman?" someone muttered from the back of the crowd. "Stopping this son of a bitch is supposed to be his job."

One man reached up to remove his spectacles before calmly saying, "Batman's on his way."

A dozen set of eyes all turned to the silver haired man.

"How do you know he's on his way, Mitchell?" one (Mitchell recalled his name was Koeb) demanded. His fingers tightened upon the rifle in his hands until his knuckles bled white. "Ya got intel we don't have or something?"

Mitchell turned confident eyes upon the man who'd spoken. "I know Batman is on the way because it's the Joker causing this mess," he stated simply, "and it's the Joker who Batman has been fixated upon for the last few months." Only silently did he add, _and because it's one of Batman's kids that that clown is terrorizing right now_.

* * *

><p>Bozo dropped the assault rifle and reached for the RPG that one of the other men, Harpo, was holding, but he refrained from firing the warhead. Instead, he watched as a familiar black automobile came tearing up the road towards them. It almost reminded him of a demonic tank. His painted smile turned to a mew of surprise when it plowed into the back of a small van a second later, throwing it to the side and out of its way. The Batmobile continued onwards as the van jumped a girder and careened down into one of the loading yards, where it landed with a loud crash. Bozo and Harpo continued watching the Batmobile come streaking towards them, huge grins on their faces.<p>

"Think it's really him?" Harpo asked in a voice made breathy by excitement. "Think it's really the Bat?"

"Gotsa be him," Bozo said with an equal amount of delight in his own voice. "Who else could it be?"

"Nightblunder?"

"Ain't ya heard? Nightwing don't patrol Gotham no more."

"Really?" Harpo asked, surprise thickening his voice to molasses. "When that happen?"

"Whiles ago. Now shaddup and contact the boss on the radio. Let him know that the Bat is on his way."

"A'ight."

Bozo lined up the RPG and aimed at a squad car. He fired as the squad car began braking. The RPG slammed into a second squad car in front of the first, and exploded. The first squad car swerved and slammed into a wall, and the Batmobile shot through the flames and smoke in pursuit.

As Bozo took aim with the RPG again, the Batmobile swerved and clipped the truck's bumper. The truck was propelled forward and Bozo was knocked off balance by the unexpectedness of the maneuver. His finger accidentally depressed the trigger of the RPG and it deployed, striking the back of the vehicle and exploding. Fire bathed the street and the Batmobile cut through a wall of billowing smoke and swerved around a corner to take an access road that would take him around the blockade that the Joker had setup to stop him. For a moment, the world behind him was illuminated by spinning shards of twisted metal as the truck disintegrated. Batman felt a momentary guilt for the lives that had just been so senselessly lost. Then his resolve firmed as he considered the other lives which would be lost if he did not stop the Joker in time.

* * *

><p>The Joker jumped out of the SUV and stared at the smoke slinking towards the sky in the distance. Giggling, he went skipping towards the alleyway where his tasty morsel was awaiting rescue and salvation for her little birdie. With a hop, skip and jump, he danced across the street, magnanimous with his impending victory.<p>

He'd finally figured out how exactly he would get around Batman's one stupid rule (really, who didn't love murder and mayhem?). He'd finally discovered just how he could bring his darling down to his level! The big man was sure to explode when he saw what he'd done!

Yes, little Robin was finally going to fulfill his role as his coup d'état. But the girl though? Why his precious was going to be what would make the Bats lose his mind.

Oh, it was going to be brilliant.

Yes, it was going to be absolutely perfect!

Batman was going to finally break his itty bitty rule about killing (and it was about time! in his opinion.).

He just needed to get the big man where he needed him to be, first.

And that was why it was time for the Fenix to make a wittle phone call for her Uncle Joker. _Time to call daddy, toots_, he thought as his high, keening laugh echoed over the pandemonium and skittered along nerves already scrapped raw.

* * *

><p>Flying high above Gotham, paramedics were following the guessed coordinates from their dispatcher to where a gunshot victim (a teenaged boy) was in critical condition in an alley somewhere between North Gotham and the Docks. Over a city street about a mile long they flew before sweeping across the Pioneer's Bridge, crossing the district known as Crime Alley and searching the docks and loading yards for signs of a victim in need of immediate airlifting to a local hospital.<p>

"I hate making these runs," the pilot complained while banking to be left and flying low over a bunch of dilapidated warehouses. "We're right in the heart of crime row. Half tempted to turn around and return to base."

"We can't leave a kid to die in the streets," flight nurse Lydia Thiesson pointed out in a no-nonsense voice. "No matter what, a kid needs our help, Jameson."

Andrew Jameson knew his partner had never seen what Gotham's criminal set could do, the violence they could unleash when they wanted to play with one of the costumed freaks running around this city. He'd been witness to their depravity, a victim of their ruthlessness. He had plenty of scars to remind him of his experience. He grunted before mumbling, "So?" he mumbled. "Probably just some little punk banger anyway." His mouth thinned into a cold, hard line. "Good riddance I say."

"Still a kid," she replied firmly, readying her equipment. "And he needs an evac."

Jameson just snorted.

* * *

><p>Joker was alternating between staring at the alley where his new dolly was just waiting to be played with and watching the helicopter circling overhead. The sky was as dark as the tunnel leading straight to hell, but the chopper's red running lights gave away its position. The Joker smiled, pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and spoke into it: "Bring 'em down."<p>

* * *

><p>On the rooftop of a nearby building, a burly man wearing dirty cargo pants and a bomber jacket lined up his RPG and aimed at the helicopter. He fired just as the helicopter circled back around. The RPG slammed into the chopper's engine. It exploded, scattering fiery debris into the air and raining it down upon the world below.<p>

Inside the Batmobile, Batman was unable to do anything more than grip the steering wheel as the helicopter exploded. Bits of debris pelted the Batmobile, sounding like hail as they bounced off the black metal. In his mind, he saw another explosion.

_Jason_. No, he pushed the thought aside. He couldn't dwell on Jason, his grief or his rage at this moment. Jason was gone and there was nothing he could do that would bring the boy back. It served no purpose for him to continue dwelling on the things he could not change. He forced his mind back to the situation at hand. The Joker had not only shot and wounded Robin, but he held Raya in his anachronistic grasp as well. He was systematically playing with his imp, taunting her, circling her like a bird of prey.

Bruce had to stop him before Joker could hurt her. His phone chimed, was loud in the silence of the Batmobile's interior. Bruce didn't have to guess who the caller was, he knew who the caller was. It was a given Gordon would remain in constant contact with him. Raya was his niece, and she was in trouble-deep trouble. Joker had already injured one of Jim's children when he shot Barbara through the spine. No way was he going to allow the clown to harm another. He tapped a button on the steering wheel and answered the call.

"Jim..." he began but Gordon cut him off.

"The Joker is somewhere near where our girl is watching over Robin."

"What?" he rasped.

There was a burst of static and he could hear Gordon barking something to somebody. Then he was saying, "One of my men spotted that son of a bitch climbing out of a black SUV and skipping-_skipping! _towards an alley." There was a pause punctuated by a heavy sigh. "Whatever is going on in your head right now? I don't care about it. That son of a bitch is terrorizing our girl. _You_ stop _him_," Gordon ordered in a low, emotionally charged voice. "_You_ stop him before he hurts _her_. You hear me?"

"Yes," Batman growled before disconnecting the call and barreling through a roadblock.

* * *

><p>Raya could do little more than watch, horrified, as chaos was unleashed upon the police convoy trying to answer her distress call. The guilt weighed heavy on a heart and soul already living beneath the undertow. It was her fault that the police were being targeted, that they were being injured, killed. She'd been the one to call her Uncle Jim. She'd been the one who begged him to bring help for Tim. It was her fault. Same as it was her fault that Dick had nearly been kill...<p>

_No_, she ordered herself. _You can't fixate upon that_.

But those bands were still around her chest, around her head. Tightening, tightening. Only the boy she cradled in her arms kept her from curling into a ball and whimpering like a baby. _Stay strong for him_, she told herself. _He needs you to stay strong_. It was just as the panic began receding, though, that she heard a familiar laugh echo from out of the shadows.

"Oh, but you have been a very naughty thing, now haven't you?" she heard that licentious voice say. "Calling the cops instead of Batman. I mean, really, toots! Who calls the cops instead of the big guy?" Raya slowly turned her head and saw that the Joker was standing at the opposite end if the alley, playfully wagging a finger while leering mischievously at her. "I need you to call Batman here, darling," he cooed softly. His grin stretched across his garrulous features, sickening her. "So do be a good girl and call him for me."

"No..." she hissed.

That miles wide grin vanished instantly. A dark and dangerous glint entered his eyes. "No?" It was said sulkily, his mouth twisting into a pout. "You dare to tell _me_ no?"

"That's right," she gritted. "I am telling _you_ no. _No_, I won't call him here. _No_, I won't allow him to play your sick game." She carefully laid Tim back on the ground and slowly rose to face the pasty-faced freak. "_No_, I won't let you break him. And _no_, I will not let _you_ use _me_ to force _him_ into killing _you_, you sick son of a bitch." She tossed back her head, cool disdain and hatred showing on her face; glittering in her eyes. "I'll let you kill me before I'll allow you to push Batman into breaking his golden rule."

"You should be careful of what you ask for, my dear," Joker sneered. "You just might get what you wish for."

Raya saw hulking shapes appear behind the Joker and felt her heart drop into her stomach at the sheer volume there were. There was at least thirty of _them_, one of _her_, and an injured _Robin_ she needed to protect.

_Grayson_, she thought as the goons slowly began advancing towards her. _Where the hell are you?_


	6. Time

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one for you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

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><p>Nightwing blew into Gotham astride the back of a two-wheeled custom motorcycle that had been playfully nicknamed by the current acting Robin as the <em>Helix<em>. Exactly why the teen superhero had chosen that particular name for the sleek black Hayabusa sport bike, he could not really say. However, the older hero suspected that Robin's reason for it had to do with the woman who actually owned the bike. His teeth flashed as he curved around a corner. Robin and Fenix were long standing partners. It was a relationship that started during his days wearing that green, yellow and red costume, and which continued now that the mantle had been passed to Tim. Yet the relationship with the woman beneath the mask began long before either of them had been granted the role of Robin. Where he'd met Raya when he'd been nine, however, the current Robin had met her when he'd been _five_.

She'd been rescuing him from a bad guy who'd been trying to hurt him then, too.

_Hard to imagine that it's been nearly eight years since the night Crane tried to turn Gotham into a City of Fear_, he reflected. So much had changed during that period of time. He and Raya had dated (briefly), her father had attacked her, shot him, Raya ran away from Gotham, he'd left Gotham, become Nightwing, she returned and then...

_Jason died_.

No, he couldn't afford to think about Jason now. Raya and Tim were both counting on him. It took every ounce of will he had in order to shove his dark thoughts aside and focus upon a route that would get him across Gotham the fastest. At least there were no traffic problems at the moment; the citizens either had barricaded themselves in their homes when pandemonium erupted, or fled somewhere safe to wait out the mayhem that was again engulfing their city. On the freeway leading downtown, Nightwing spoke into his radio.

"Do you copy me, Nix?"

_You better copy me, woman_, he added silently. It took thirty seconds before she replied. Thirty seconds, in which Dick imagined her bloody and broken in the middle of the street while a madman in clown makeup danced around her limp body, cackling with glee. It was the longest thirty seconds of his life. Time, as Dick Grayson had come to learn in the eighteen years since he'd become a crime fighter, was of the essence. A second, a minute, or an hour. All three entities belonged to the same linear property, but all came with different units in which to measure that particular unit. Knowing if he had seconds, minutes or hours could make all the difference in the world between a plan being a success, or an absolute failure. Here, one second, barely the time it took to blink his eyes, was going to make all the difference in him getting across Gotham and to the woman currently battling the lowest of villains in a macabre battle for both Batman and Robin's souls.

_Fifteen minutes._

That was the amount of time it would take him to cover the distance between him and the woman staring the Joker in the face. He swerved around a car and clamped down on the accelerator, pushing the bike to a speed second only to the rate his heart was pounding.

"Goddamn it, Fenix," he snarled into his microphone. "Answer me!"

There was a _click_ in his ear and suddenly he could hear her voice replying to his demand for a response.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment, bird boy. So this is gonna have ta wait."

"Where are you?" he demanded in a low growl. "And don't even think about lying to me, woman."

It was silent for all of a minute. Nightwing's jaw clenched and his fingers tightened upon the handlebars. Before he could read her the riot act about just cutting him off (especially after taking off from their apartment as she'd done), she was saying, "I am where Batman found the lost Robin."

It was code for the alley where Bruce found Jason. _Son of a bitch_, he thought savagely. _Joker has gone all out with this plan_.

"I'll be there in ten," he promised her. "Just hold on, 'kay?"

"Just hurry, _please_."

The reed thin note of urgency coating her voice had him clamping down even harder on the throttle and streaking down a side street.

* * *

><p><em>Time, I need to buy more time<em>, was her only thought after she spoke with Dick. Hearing his voice, knowing he was coming, that he was on his way, managed to comfort and steady her. Knowing he was coming, that he was on his way, bolstered her flagging confidence. Time represented the one thing that mattered the most to her at that moment: survival. She just had to buy enough time in order for Dick (and Bruce) to arrive and take over the fight with Joker's goons so she could get Tim to Alfred (and some much needed medical help).

Time.

It all came down to time. It always came down to time when you were a crime fighter. A second, a minute, or an hour. All three were entities that belonged to the same linear property. Yet they all came with different units of measure. Knowing if she had seconds, minutes or hours could make all the difference in the world between whatever plan she came up with being a success, or an abject failure. Here, one second, barely the length of time that it took to draw in a breath, was going to make all the difference in the world between her, as well as the boy she considered a brother, living or dying.

Time.

It was the cruelest of weapons wielded by the Sisters of Fate. And yet neither those sisters, nor the sick freak cackling that obnoxious laugh of his from the back of the crowd had counted upon how _this _flame bird had been taught to rise by her dark mentor. The past rose up to remind her of the lessons she'd been taught in a damp cave hidden far below an opulent mansion in the city's Bristol District.

* * *

><p>"We fall," Batman told her. "So we can rise. When we first begin to walk, when we first learn how to skate, when we first learn how to climb, we fall so that we have to learn how to get back up on our feet. We fall so we have to learn how to try, try, try again. And," he said to her. "We fall so that we learn to never give up. So learn to fall, imp. Because then, and only then, will you learn how to rise."<p>

* * *

><p>Bruce had taught her how to rise from fear. The problem, though, was she'd never been afraid of the Joker. The first time she'd faced him, she'd discovered that for all his masochistic and homicidal ways, the self-professed Clown Prince of Crime was nothing more than a flesh and blood man. Once you took away his guns, removed the chattering teeth, and rid him of anything containing his laughing gas, the Joker became nothing more than any ordinary hood from off the streets. His ultimate power came from his twisted theatrical tricks as well as the anachronistic displays of violence he used in order to intimidate his victims.<p>

His tricks did not impress her one bit.

Why should they?

She'd lived with a monster she'd been forced to call _father_ for the first nine years of her life. Every day had been a new horror, a fresh terror, a different trauma. She knew all about the art of intimidation. She'd learned it at the hands of a master. And she knew all about _fear_. She saw its face every time she closed her eyes. No, as a man, the Joker did not terrify her.

How could he when her own father was the living embodiment of everything she feared?

"You do not fear him," she heard that familiar voice rasp in her ear. "You are thinking that that makes you strong. But it is only making you blind."

She turned, half expecting to see that shadowy figure standing behind her. But that larger than life figure wasn't there. The only people behind her had on clown makeup and cradled baseball bats and lead pipes in their meaty paws. _Time_, she thought again. _I have got to buy enough time. They'll be here. I just have to buy them enough to get here_.

_Yeah_, a voice whispered in her head. _And that is going to be easier said than done here, girlie_. A quick count told her that voice was right. Thirty guys was a bit of a stretch. Even with all her skill and training the odds were more than solidly in their favor. She counted her options (of which there were few). Speed would be her greatest ally here. Strike fast, make the hit count, and get out before another goon could grab hold of her. A breath of wind billowed past her ear and she again heard Bruce speak.

"Always remember to fight smarter, not harder."

It was the third lesson he'd taught her. She mentally went over what items she'd thought to bring with her. She had two smoke pellets, and a handful of talons. She could cut their numbers down to half with the neural toxin laced darts. The smoke pellets would render her invisible and allow her to move among them without them being able to see her.

But she needed a weapon in order to make the most of _that_ plan.

A glance showed her a thug in Blackgate prison garb smacking a lead pipe against his palm. Her teeth flashed in the murky shadows of the alley. _Perfect_. She reached for one of her talons, palming one before smiling at the men leering at her.

"Go get her, boys!" the Joker cackled.

The men started advancing like a solid wall of human flesh before they split off, slowly moving to surround her, and flanking her on all sides. Time slowed to a crawl as Raya felt the blaze of the fire inside the pit of her belly started to engulf her. _Time for this bird to rise_, she thought as she drew her arm back. She never heard the scream of the police sirens, or the squeal of a particular set of tires. The first dart was already leaving her hand at the same second a figure launched high into the air like a bat rising straight outta the pits of hell...

* * *

><p>The Joker circled around the battle, watching and waiting for the moment when his Knight would arrive. Then, and only then, would he leap in and grasp hold of the little cutie (and wasn't she just adorable doing all those little backflips and high kicks?) by her long hair. His grin stretched wide as he imagined the anguish that would be on the face of his Bats when he rid him of this little bird. Oh, the Dark Knight would finally snap and that mantle of civility would be cast off when he saw the lights go out in those pretty little eyes. Oh, yes, the big guy would swoop across the distance separating them and grasp him by the throat before the little lovely's body had even had a chance to hit the ground.<p>

It was going to be glorious!

Yes, Batman was going to finally break his one teensy, tiny little rule (and really, who even made up such a rule like that, anyway?) tonight.

And the Joker couldn't wait.

His high, keening laugh echoed above the sounds of the sirens, the shouts from the cops, and the grunts and curses of his idiot henchmen. Morons who couldn't even take down one small girl! _I mean really_! he pouted. How hard was it to get a hold of the little birdie? A flash of something shiny caught his eye and the Joker turned his head. His verdant eyes gleamed when he spied the figure racing towards the scene. _Oho, so the mighty Nightwing thinks he's going to make the save, does he_?

A smile stretched his fractured mouth wide, and his brain began to tick as another plan took root. If killing Robin (_and he'd better stay dead this time_! was his petulant thought) and the lovely somehow were not enough to push his love over the edge?

Well, killing the _first_ Boy Blunder was sure to finish the job!

He reached into his pocket as he giggled with glee, pulled out the walkie. "Kill Nightwing," he chortled into the radio.

* * *

><p>Batman glided into the middle of the melee, grabbing one of the painted freaks in one fist and dragging the screaming man across the asphalt before slamming him against the side of the Joker's SUV. One fist to the face was all that we needed to render the man unconscious, not that Batman stayed to ensure the thug was, indeed, knocked out. He'd already turned to wade back into the sea of bodies, his eyes searching for the petite figure caught somewhere in the middle of the sea of human flesh.<p>

_Where is she_? He thought desperately. _Where is Raya_?

He finally spotted the small black figure back flipping towards him, nimbly evading a thug with a knife. Before he could even think to do anything she retaliated by slamming a pipe she'd snagged from someone against the man's wrist, causing him to howl with pain and rage. The knife clattered to the ground, followed a second later by its owner after he was knocked unconscious by a punch that made him want to beam with pride. She did not stop moving, striking out with ruthless speed and precision. Batman recognized his own fighting techniques intermixed with those of Nightwing's and Master Kazhashi Liu Bi Wen. It surprised him to see Master Wen's lessons executed so precisely.

_She always swore she'd become as good a fighter as Dick_, he mused. _And it seems that she has lived up to her word._

More thugs waded into the fray at that moment. Batman sprang into action by back body dropping a thug who ran at him. He then punched another in the gut, while elbowing a third in the face. Battered bodies began to fall to the wayside, most thrown about by a tortured hero whose own feet and fists never stopped moving, would not stop moving until every last one of the men had been subdued. A lot happened in a short time:

On the street, a squad of heavily armored and armed SWAT began to advance towards the brawl.

On the roof of the warehouse, a sniper aimed at the superhero clad in blue and black Kevlar, a sick grin twisting his lips before he slowly squeezed the trigger on the rifle he cradled in his arms.

On the opposite side of the street, Police Commissioner Jim Gordon became aware of the danger to Nightwing when he spotted the little red laser centered upon the young man's chest...


	7. You Won't Win

A/N: Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one for you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

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><p>He couldn't let the boy die.<p>

That was the only thing going through Jim Gordon's head when he saw that red laser land upon Nightwing's chest. He could not let the boy die. The clown had killed enough for one night, he'd claimed enough innocent lives, and he wasn't going to add the boy's name to the list. Just then a voice (that sounded like Harvey's) sounded inside his head. _Boy_? the voice whispered. _This is no boy, Jim. This is a man. A man who your oldest daughter cares for, that she almost married. A man..._

Who is the very heart and soul of the girl fighting beside the Dark Knight.

_Yes_, the veteran detective thought, _losing this young man will completely devastate Raya_.

He sprang into action, years of training and long honed instincts providing him with the reflexes necessary to reach the younger man's side.

"Sniper!" he shouted in the same breath he grabbed hold of Nightwing and yanked him down beside the squatting Bullock. The young man blinked his surprise, opened his mouth to say something, but a slug slammed into the passenger window of the car, shattering it into a billion different pieces that rained down upon them.

* * *

><p>"Sniper!"<p>

Raya could hear her uncle shouting above the clatter of bodies hitting the ground. She spun on one booted heel and spied the small red dot that crept across Dick's forehead, slide slowly to the left before dropping down to fix on the middle of his chest. It was worse than being plunged into a tub of ice water. She did not realize that the scream she thought only blared through her head was really tripping off her tongue. The sound alerted the swirling dark figure behind her, and he instantly turned, grab hold of her shoulder, went to spin her towards him, but froze when he spied what exactly had caused her to scream. A thug came lumbering towards them and Raya reacted out of instinct, shoving the painted baboon into another and ducking the punch of another in her quest to now stop that shooter before he could pull the trigger. The only thing she could focus upon was that rifle, that long shot of death, that canon of doom.

It felt like time slowed to an absolute crawl. Her heartbeat drummed a hard tattoo against her rib cage. Every ambient sound faded, leaving the only thing she could audibly hear again and again the one word her uncle had called out. Fear lent her feet wings, and gave her arms renewed strength. Anger blazed and cleared away the fog preventing her from thinking clearly and logically about what her next move needed to be.

It wasn't like she needed to think for long, or very hard about what her next move had to be.

Stopping that shooter before he could take another shot at her best friend and partner is what her next move would be. _He's more than your best friend and partner_, a sly voice (that sounded suspiciously like Dinah Lance's) whispered in her ear. _Admit it, girl_. _That's your man up there, and he's in danger._

As much as it annoyed her, Raya knew _Dinah _was right. Richard Grayson had been more than her best friend and partner for the last six months. Yet, neither of them had ever discussed what they actually were. They just... _were_. They'd been promising each other for over a month now that they'd sit down and talk about their relationship, but one thing or another (work and criminals mostly) always kept them from doing so. Now he was caught in a shooter's crosshairs and she might never get the chance to say all those things she'd been meaning to say.

Like _I love you_.

She'd never get to tell that beautiful, wonderful, sweet, and amazing man who'd been with her since the beginning of it all that she was hopelessly in love with him.

_Well_, she decided as she back flipped kicked an advancing goon into another, _I am not going to let the Joker win._

No, she wasn't going to let the freak add another Robin to his list.

Not tonight.

Not any other night.

Raya reached for the last of her talons. Where Batman was, she really did not know. She could only put her full faith into his having caught onto the seriousness of the situation, convince herself he was already in the process of letting one of his remote controlled batarangs fly. Her dart left her hand in the same instant as the unseen assailant again squeezed the trigger…

* * *

><p>Standing there on the opposite side of the street, feeling absolutely helpless, Batman could do nothing but watch as Dick fell beside Gordon. Rage and anguish surged inside him and he used his grappling gun to pull the sniper from the roof, saving anyone else from death by gunfire. However, forever sealed now into his brain was the sight of his oldest son being shot in the chest. Unbidden memories superimposed themselves upon his conscious mind, taunting him in the clown's voice, and laughing at him in that high-pitched cackle that was his.<p>

Batman saw again the explosion which ripped apart the night lying over that Ethiopian warehouse as if it was little more than a lace curtain. He could see the dancing tendrils of smoke and flame rocketing up into the starless sky in a sick dance. He could smell the acrid stench of blood, rotting garbage, burning wood, and scorched metal. His belly pitched violently and saliva flooded his mouth. He heard his breath rasping in his throat, felt it freeze in his chest. His thoughts were whirling chaotically. Too late, he was too late. He'd always be too late. Just like he'd been doomed to fail to protect Jason Todd and Tim Drake, he'd been doomed to fail Dick Grayson as well.

_I'm sorry_, he said to the man who'd been like a son to him. _It's my fault, Dick. I got you killed. I got all of you killed. I own that. I'll carry that like I carry everything else. It's my fault that the Joker was able to get his hands upon all of you. It's my fault for not seeing, not suspecting that he'd come after you, that he'd target you to get at me. I failed you. Failed you as a father. Failed you as Batman. And I will carry that guilt, and that regret with me, forever_.

He heard that high, keening laugh echo, and saw the Joker clapping and dancing in the middle of the street.

He never saw himself turning towards that gaily laughing figure.

He never felt himself launching himself at him.

He never realized he grasped the Joker by the throat.

All he knew was that he'd taken all the injustice that he was going to take.

And he simply wasn't going to take any more.

* * *

><p>Gordon didn't know why, or even exactly what had happened, he just knew that something, somehow, had broken inside Batman. What Gordon had long expected and feared was about to come to pass: Batman was going to go too far. He watched that armored figure clench the Joker by the throat, and knew, just <em>knew<em>, that the Dark Knight would not be letting go until the last breath had been squeezed from the clown's body. He moved towards him, meaning to reason with him (if he could), to stop him (if that was possible), but a hand on his arm halted him. He turned furious eyes upon Nightwing.

"He's going to kill him," he snapped at the young man. "Don't you understand that? He's going to _kill_ the Joker!"

Nightwing nodded and Gordon saw his expression was grim. "I know he is. But," he urged quietly. "Let _her_ handle it."

_Her_? Gordon thought before he looked over to where Raya had coiled herself, much like a snake wrapped round the limb of an oak tree, around Batman.

"Let'm go," he heard her say. He could hear the fear throbbing in her voice; could see it stamped upon her face. He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to see his girl standing there, visibly trembling, her face white as chalk. Now that the fighting was done, that the threat had been removed, all that remained was the panic. Gordon knew that confronting Batman after all these years was costing her huge chunks of herself. Only for _him_ would she trade her soul, though. Only for _him_ would she rip her own heart from her chest. Only for _him_ would she bleed.

That dark and tortured figure was more than just her mentor and partner, more even than just the man who was both her rescuer and protector.

He was also her father.

_She's always shared us_, he told the man standing upon the ledge of no return. _She's always treated us the same, loved us the same. Don't let her down now. Not when she needs you more than ever_.

"Let'm go, Batman," he heard her say again. A veiled note of steel underscored that thin, reedy tone. "It's not worth it… _he's_ not worth it."

"Aw..." The Joker gurgled. "Don't be a killjoy, baby..."

Whatever he might have been about to say ended on a choked gasp that almost sounded like a cackle. Joker's long, bony fingers dug into Batman's wrist gauntlet, but whether it was to gain his release from that gloved grasp or to push the hero into taking that final plunge into the abyss of no return was anybody's guess. Gordon was about to entreat the tense figure at his side to go help with bringing Batman back from the brink when Raya spoke.

"Look at me."

Her simple command held echoes of authority, rippled with compulsion. Hearing it, Gordon felt his lips twitch. If anybody could match Batman's autocratic tone, it was his girl. When he didn't comply with her request, she repeated it. "Batman, look at me."

She stood waiting for him to shift his gaze from the pasty-faced freak to her, and even while the veteran detective knew her panic threatened to tear her into shreds, she did not look away. She willingly faced her own fears in order to keep from losing this man to his. She reached up and laid a hand on his cheek.

"_You_ told me once that _'moral excellence comes about as a result of habit. We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts'_," her tone was quiet and all the more effective because of it. "_You_ taught me what those words meant. _You_ taught me how to temper my thirst for vengeance with a greater ideal of justice. _You_ taught me to refrain from killing filth like him because I was better. _You_ taught me how to stand above the criminals we fight. And _you_ taught me the greatest lesson of all when you told me that I needed to fall so that I could get up and push back against those who shoved me down. So don't give this sick son of a bitch what he wants," she pleaded. "Don't let him win. Don't let him beat you. Not like this." When he began to waver she added, her voice barely above a whisper. "Rise and push him back."

Gordon as well as the man at his side held their breaths in anticipation of what Batman would do. It took less than ten seconds before that gloved hand shoved the Joker away from him.

"Good girl," he heard Nightwing whisper. "I knew you had it in you."

"What?" he asked him. "She had what?"

"The strength to pull him back," was the soft reply.

"Oh…! Oh, you! You just had to spoil everything," the Joker wheezed.

"It's over, Joker," Batman growled.

The Joker merely smiled. "Over? Why, my dear delusional Dark Knight," he purred. "The fun has only just _begun_. Soon as I get free..."

Raya's elbow smashing into his face silenced whatever threat the Clown Prince of Crime might have made. Despite the situation, Gordon couldn't help the tingle of fatherly pride.

"You come after my family again," Raya swore in one long breath. "And I will bring hell down upon you."

The Joker merely fixed her with a baleful look. "Oh, my dear... I'm really gonna have to hunt you down and kill you one of these days!"

"Take a number," she shot back. "My father's been trying to kill me for years." She signaled to one of the waiting SWAT. "Put this clown back in his box."

The Joker laughed, and kept laughing as he was cuffed and hauled away.

"At least we stopped the son of a bitch." Gordon reached up to take his eyeglasses off. He could feel the start of a grand headache swelling. _From a lack of sleep, too much caffeine and a helluva lot of stress_, he thought as he slid the glasses into his coat pocket. "He can't hurt any more people for tonight, at least."

"For tonight, yes," Nightwing said. "But it is only a matter of time before he will again terrorize Gotham."

"I know, but," Gordon said, turning towards him. But the hero was already gone. He just grunted. "Kid likes to think he isn't like his mentor, but he's getting to be more like him every damn day."


	8. The End

**A/N:** Hello and goodbye m'dears… goodbye because we've reached the end of the road for this story.

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><p>Just before dawn broke the sky into blistering shades of crimson gold, Raya stood in front of the bed situated in the medical bay of the Batcave, her arms wrapped loosely around herself as she gazed at the pale figure unconscious in the bed. A thousand things raced through her mind, but there was only one thought she gave voice to.<p>

"Will he be all right, Alfred?"

Alfred Pennyworth turned towards the petite girl. Even an old man like him could see there were a lot of things (all of them dark and turbulent) alive upon her face. Yet, what he ultimately saw was an exhausted, guilt stricken and traumatized woman. He laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder before he spoke.

"Master Timothy is young, and he is healthy. He will recover in time."

"This should never have happened, Alfred," she whispered in a voice fractured by regrets. "The Joker should never have gotten his hands upon Tim." She turned ravaged eyes upon the butler. "What was he doing out tonight, anyway? I thought Bruce was keeping him grounded to the cave still?"

Alfred released a soft sigh while gazing at the unconscious boy. "I believe that Master Timothy suspected you were in Gotham," he finally told her in a gentle voice. "And knowing how hard traversing the city has been for you, he tried to find you so that you would not be alone should a panic attack set in."

He felt the shoulder beneath his palm droop, knew the mantle of blame and guilt weighed heavy upon a soul already bearing far too much. _You are so much like Master Bruce_, he said to her silently. _Always taking the responsibility and shouldering the blame, even if you are not the cause for what happened._

"My damn fears have caused nothing but problems for this family," she rasped. "If I'd never left..."

"Then _you _would be dead." Alfred had not meant to speak quite so bluntly, but fact was fact. Matthew Berkeley Jr. would not have stopped until his daughter was cold in the ground. She turned away with a sigh, busying herself by tucking the covers back over Tim.

"I know you are right, Alfred," she said as she gently brushed the hair away from Tim's forehead. "In my head I know that you are right. I'd be dead had I not left." Even with her head turned away, Alfred could see the tears that sparkled upon her lashes. "But in my heart?" She sniffled as one tear streaked a path down her ashen cheek. "My heart says that Bruce and Dick's relationship would never have fragmented, that Dick would never have left Gotham, that Jason Todd would never have been beaten to death by that painted monster, and Tim not shot by him. None of these things would have happened had I stayed and protected my family."

Oh, his heart ached to see one so young carrying so many burdens. This girl had always seen it as her job to protect both Master Bruce and Richard Grayson. And when Timothy Drake entered her dark world, she'd blindly accepted that fate was telling her to protect him as well.

"The problems of this family are not yours alone to fix," he pointed out gently. "Master's Bruce and Richard each shoulder a fair share of the responsibility for the problems that are between them."

"Yes, but if we leave it up to those two to sort out..." she trailed off into a frustrated sigh.

"They are two very strong-willed individuals."

"They're stubborn jerks, Alfred."

His lips twitched. "Yes, they can be that."

"Dick tends to get his Bat-boxers in a bunch whenever he is around Bruce for more than five minutes," she huffed. "Hell, a two minute phone call is enough to turn him into a moody jerk for a week."

Alfred coughed to hide his amusement. "Master Richard's problem is that he desires Master Bruce to see him as his equal and not as his protégé."

She snorted. "Of all the idiotic things... doesn't he realize that Bruce wouldn't leave him to handle things in Blüdhaven if he didn't see him as being capable of being the city's guardian? Doesn't he realize that Bruce places the most faith in him? The most trust?" She turned towards him. "Doesn't he realize how proud Bruce is of him? And that he's proud of him for not only going on to craft himself a new crime fighting identity, but for becoming a police officer as well? For making a life for himself that doesn't just include crime fighting?"

"Master Bruce has not been as vocal or as demonstrative with his praise or his inner thoughts and feelings since you left," he pointed out gently. "And Master Richard has not been inclined to listen whenever Bruce would try and talk with him. Many words have been spoken between them, and feelings hurt."

Raya raked her fingers through her hair. "And it doesn't help that they are more alike than either one wants to admit."

Alfred remained quiet, even though he silently agreed with her assessment. Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson were more alike than ether wanted, or were ready to admit. They were much more than master and apprentice, crime fighting associates or the former dynamic duo.

They were father and son.

Alfred was wise enough to know that _that_ was the biggest problem between his employer and his former charge. Bruce was a father being forced into letting go of his son. And for a man who feared losing the ones he loved, Alfred knew that letting one go was absolutely the most difficult thing that he'd ever had to do in his entire life. He heard Raya yawn, saw she was trying to stifle the sound with the back of her hand. He drew himself up stiffly and fixed her with his most severe look.

"It is bedtime, young lady."

Raya started, and her face filled with heated color. "Oh, no, I'm fine," she quickly said. "I want to remain..."

"Pushing yourself past the point of exhaustion will not help Master Timothy any," he told her sternly. "Nor will it make the man waiting upstairs for word of his condition very happy, either."

She looked like she was about to protest but then her face softened and she said, "Okay, Alfred. I'll take myself up to bed."

"Very good, miss."

* * *

><p>The Joker had certainly taken a bit of a beating- his suit was rumpled, he was battered and bruised, his face was coated in a thin layer of soot-but he seemed perfectly content to sit in his holding cell and be guarded by two armed guards. Occasionally, he giggled, which grated upon the nerves of Stephen Collins. What the clown could be finding to be so amusing, he could not say. Yet, he somehow had a feeling it had to do with Batman. With an obsessed freak like the Joker it was always the safest bet to think that it was about Batman.<p>

Suddenly the clown sat forward.

"I want to make a phone call," he announced.

"Not on your life, freak," Stephen Collins snapped. "Now shut up."

The clown's eyes flashed with wild malevolence and his hideously mangled lips twisted into a pout. "Are you telling _me_ no?" he asked in a dark purr.

"Yeah." Collins nodded. "I'm telling ya no. Now shut up."

"Oh," that voice dropped to a moist hiss. And something dangerous came alive in that painted face. "You should really have chosen to answer differently."

"Oh, yeah? And why's that?"

The butt of a rifle slamming against the back of his head was his only answer.

* * *

><p>On the roof of police headquarters, James Gordon found himself again standing next to that klieg spotlight, staring up as its beam shot off a brilliant white light that placed a symbol in the shape of a bat up into the cloudless sky. <em>It'd been a helluva night for them all, <em>he thought as he wiped his glasses on a soft cloth.

"Switch it off, Commissioner," a familiar voice suggested. "And go on home to your wife."

"I'm surprised you're here instead of him." He turned towards the young man perched in the shadows. "You should be home with my girl."

"Are you giving me permission to date your niece?" Nightwing's teeth flashed for a moment. "Or just watch out for her?"

Gordon grunted. "You don't need my permission to date Raya, son. You've got hers. And that's good enough for me."

A shadow passed over his face before Nightwing looked away. He was silent for a few seconds. Gordon waited patiently. Then he heard the boy say in a soft, moody tone, "Yeah, well, I imagine that us dating is over and done now that she's home."

Gordon's eyebrows feathered upwards at that. "Why do you think that things between you will end now that Raya's home?" he asked. "Has she said that she wants to break things off with you?"

"No," he mumbled. "But I know she will."

It was rare to see this young man show any type of doubt. The entire time he'd known him (had it really been twelve years?), Gordon had never once seen him express anything less than a level-headed confidence and coolly composed, yet playful demeanor. Yet there this hero of Gotham sat, his shoulders stooped, his head lowered, and his heart bleeding all over his sleeve.

"Why do you think Raya will break things off with you?"

"She'll want to stay here and take care of Robin..." he paused. "And Batman."

_So that's the way of it, is it, kiddo_? the veteran detective mused silently. _You figure that she's gonna pick your old man over you_. He shook his head. _Kids_.

"Son," he said gently. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about."

Even though that head only lifted slightly, it was enough for Gordon to see that those blue eyes were bleak. "She's going to choose to stay with..."

"_You_," Gordon finished for him. "She's going to pick to stay with _you_."

"How do you know?"

"I know my girl," he said smartly.

"So?"

Gordon hid a smile. "So I know that she's only happiest when she's with _you_."

"That doesn't mean she'll choose to go back to Blüdhaven with me, Commissioner."

"Wherever you go, Raya will go." He clapped a hand upon one of those stooped shoulders. "Home is where the heart is, son," he stated softly, "and her heart is with you."

Nightwing was silent. Then the ends of his long lips lifted. "Thanks, Commissioner," he murmured. "I needed the pep talk."

"Don't mention it. Now get on home to your girlfriend," Gordon said as he stepped away. "I imagine she's waiting up for you."

Those teeth flashed again in the darkness. Then he said, "There's one more thing I need to do before I can go home."

And with that he disappeared back into the shadows. Gordon just shook his head.

"Getting more like your mentor every day, kid," he muttered before he switched off the spotlight and went back inside.

* * *

><p>The Joker went skipping towards where his Harls was waiting for him next to a black SUV ten minutes later. With a hop, skip and a jump, he danced across the parking garage, rejoicing in his freedom as well as the idea that'd come to him while he'd been waiting to be sprung from his cell. Oh, yes, he'd finally figured out just how he was gonna get around Batman's itty, bitty golden rule. Yes, he'd finally figured out just how he was gonna bring his dear dark Knight down to his level.<p>

Oh, it would be glorious to watch as the big guy realized he'd been well and truly caught!

It was almost worth the vexation he felt at having his grand masterpiece yet again interrupted.

This was proving to be the most brilliant of schemes he'd come up with yet!

_And just what is it that you intend to do_? he silently asked himself.

His lips spread into a wide grin that had the hair on the back of Harley's neck twitching. _Why, I'm going to kill the little lovely._

Yes, if killing Robin wasn't enough to push the big guy over the edge, killing his precious princess was absolutely sure to!

Hadn't his love almost gone to pieces when he merely _threatened_ to kill her?

His high, keening laugh echoed off the buildings, rocketing out over the air and catching the attention of a masked vigilante who'd been watching from a place nearby just so he could see for himself how long it took before the Clown Prince of Crime was back on the streets and already planning what his next move was going to be.

* * *

><p>A glance at his watch showed Dick that the clown had been locked up for exactly two hours and thirty-nine minutes.<p>

Even by the Joker's standards it was longer than he'd expected.

He shook his head, a wry grin twisting his lips as he reached for the grapnel gun stored in one of his suit's many compartments. It was time to head back to the Manor. Exhaustion was weighing heavy on him, and he'd left Raya alone with Bruce for long enough.

_Hopefully he took my advice and let her come to him_, the young hero thought. _If not, there is going to be hell to pay. _

Two minutes later he was curving around a corner and hitting the road that would lead him out to the Bristol District and the mansion he'd spent his formative years growing up in.


	9. Home

**A/N:** Hello and goodbye m'dears… goodbye because we've reached the end of the road for this story.

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button.

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><p>Wayne Manor echoed with a burning silence. It was as if the house was wrapped in the silvery arms of the cold shadows slithering across her polished floors, dancing in her many corners and playing peek-a-boo in the numerous rooms the Manor boasted. The tangled webs of memories hanging over this house were thick like molasses. Even now the house sighed and wept with the dark secrets hidden deep inside her brick and wooden infrastructure. Raya's heart was heavy as she made her way through the front foyer to the grand staircase. For nine years this house had been home.<p>

She'd spent many an evening seated in one of the overstuffed armchairs in the private parlor in the East Wing, listening as Bruce tutored them in everything from Anthropology to Zoology. Dick would, of course, groan and complain about how it was "totally unfair" that they had to attend school for "eight hours" and then come home to be schooled for another "three or four." But he lived for those times as much as she did. _Sure_, she thought as she ascended the stairs, it wasn't the sort of quality time most child psychologists would suggest. For them it was the best kind. It made them closer to the man who'd brought them into his world, and his life. It made them a part of him, and him a part of them in return. They'd built their family over those tutoring sessions.

Course, she'd also spent many an hour up in that second floor library, happily curled up in her favorite window bench while reading one of the thousands of tomes and anthologies that Bruce had in his collection. Books were a personal passion acquired long before she'd come to live here. Books were also something shared between her and Bruce. It became a sort of game between them, one of them leaving a book for the other to read. Her lips curled as she remembered that it'd been Bruce who introduced her to cyberpunk and William Gibson. Course, to be fair, she'd introduced him in turn to horror and Stephen King.

Ah, but her most favorite place, she realized as she began crossing the upper landing, and the spot where she'd spent the most hours outside the cave, was the family room. She and Dick would watch movies and work upon either their school homework or one of the special _assignments_ Bruce would give them as part of what he'd termed their _Robin and Fenix_ lessons. Sometimes they'd just play video games (though she was quite terrible at them, much to Dick's amusement). Sometimes, when they could convince him to, Bruce would join them in either playing a game, or watching a movie.

Those had been some of the greatest moments of her life.

They'd been the moments she'd clung to during her five year exile from this house and the man who prowled these shadow shrouded hallways.

Even though it was close to 6:00 A.M. she saw a light under the door of the master bedroom. Not that she'd expected him to be asleep. Bruce tended to only fall asleep once he'd worn himself into a state of physical exhaustion. It was a way to avoid the nightmares that tended to come late in the night, when the mind was its most vulnerable and control at its very lowest. One could, by day, deny, shut off, willfully ignore or otherwise guard themselves against the things that came for them the moment they fell asleep.

Sleep, after all, had its own kind of power, one that could seduce the dreamer, lure them into their filmy web where they would then torment them mercilessly. Even the strongest of minds was not capable of avoiding the God of Nightmares. She walked over to the door and hesitated only a moment before knocking softly.

"Come in, Alfred," she heard him call out.

He was standing by the window, staring at the world outside the glass panes, still wearing his boots and his leg armor. He glanced over at Raya and stiffened visibly. It was his only outward sign of surprise at seeing her framed in his doorway.

"Raya..."

The uncertainty stamped upon his face; in his voice she knew was a reflection of her own. His eyes were red-rimmed with grief and exhaustion, and his skin ashen beneath the gold of his tan. Yet those eyes glowed with an intensity that caused her breath to lodge in her chest. That one brief look in his eyes dredged up the fear, stirred the panic. Even now she could feel the bands of terror tightening around her chest, around her head. Tightening, tightening. Until she thought she was going to pass out from the pressure. She drew enough strength from that one low, emotionally charged word to batten back the panic and the dread in order to keep from turning tail and fleeing to her own room at the end of the hall. She'd run long enough. It was time to come home. Oh, but her homecoming was proving to be just as difficult as she'd always imagined it would be. Still, she had to try and push through the fear, and the doubts.

_It's time to rise, girlfriend_.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything to him, but the only sound that came out was a tiny squeak that had her face flaming with embarrassment. She hid her shame by looking past Bruce, out the window, to where she could see the light shining that eternal signal of hope high up into the quickly lightening sky. When she felt more in control, she again looked at him.

The panic set in even before she caught a glimpse of his face.

* * *

><p>Bruce couldn't stand it; he couldn't stand to see her standing there, trembling with fear, and with her face white as his sheets. He didn't realize he'd moved towards her until he was standing so close that he could hear her breath wheezing out from between her teeth.<p>

"Raya, look at me," he commanded, reaching for her.

"Don't!" She tumbled back, holding her hands up to ward him off. "Just... let me settle."

He stood there, aching with his want, with his need to hold this girl-woman who was a daughter to him. Dick told him he had to tread lightly, that she was fragile and his bulldog approach one that could break her completely. He gentled his tone. "Look at me, Raya."

"No," she whispered. "I can't do that."

"Yes," he said. "You can."

"No, I can't…"

"Look at me," he coaxed gently.

She stared at the winged emblem emblazoned upon his broad chest plate for a number of tense moments. Finally she worked up the courage to lift her head and look at his chin, that patrician nose. But she could not bring herself to look in those eyes. The fear of seeing hatred and disgust within those electric blue depths was like an icy poker jabbing through her belly. It had been so much easier when she'd confronted him earlier. Then there'd been a different fear, one born of watching the man she considered her father and mentor tottering upon the edge of a crumbling cliff because of the clown who'd masterminded his fall. Now there was nothing standing between her and the fear.

"Look at me, Raya."

"No, no," she croaked out around the ball lodged in her throat. "I'm sorry... I can't. I just… _can't_."

"Yes, you can. You did it earlier."

Raya shook her head. "Then I was afraid of losing you to the Joker."

"What are you afraid of now?"

"Losing you."

The words came tumbling out before she could stop them. Humiliation and shame burned like acid in the pit of her belly. All her insecurities rose up to shout at her, crowded in on her, taunting her. She had to get out of there, had to have a moment to regroup. She turned to flee. She wouldn't get away. Not this time. He'd already lost her once. There was absolutely no way in hell he was going to lose her again. Before a full panic attack had a chance to set in, he grabbed hold of her, crushing her in his arms and holding her tight. Her breath came out as a tattered rasp and her body began to tremble.

"How could you believe that I would ever hate you?" His sigh ruffled the hair at her temple. "Or think that I would blame you for what that man did?"

"Because it was my fault," she whispered in a fractured voice. "I almost got Dick kill..."

"Raya," he cut in gently. "What have I taught you about fear?"

"You taught me how to rise from it."

"And what are you not doing?"

She tried to draw a breath but it was difficult. Her chest felt tight, her lungs cold lumps surrounding her erratically beating heart. "Not rising from it?" she rasped.

"And what should you do about it?"

A voice in the back of her head whispered one word in response to that question: _run_. But her automatic mouth had her replying, "Push back against the fear and rise."

"Then look at me."

She wanted to look at him. She really did. She just... couldn't. She stared at the painting over his bed, said, "Don't you understand that I can't, Bruce?"

"When did my Fenix become a coward?"

Her head snapped up at the quiet challenge in his tone. Even as panic clawed its way into her throat, she slapped it back with a slash of temper. But the blistering retort died as soon as she looked into those regimental eyes. There was none of the hate, anger and disgust her brain had convinced her she'd see shimmering in those dark depths. There was no blame, no silent accusations, and no disappointment.

There was just love.

Bruce traced a finger over her cheek, smiled a bit and said in a voice just a bit hoarse, "Hello, imp."

The dam shattered.

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the faint smell of his aftershave and finding comfort in it. Tears welled, fell like rain, and wet the column of his throat. His chest vibrated as he made a low murmur deep in his throat, and she felt his hand as it stroked down over the cap of her hair, along the taut line of her back. Every inch of it was so goddamn familiar that it made the hurt and the regret all the more terrible to bear.

"Shh," he crooned in that velvet baritone that always managed to settle and soothe her. "I'm here, kiddo. I've gotcha."

* * *

><p>Dick silently slipped away right after Raya's control broke. He'd been on pins and needles the whole time he'd been watching, knowing how easily she could shatter and wanting to be there to catch her if she started to fall. When she buried her face into Bruce's neck, he knew it was over. The Fenix had risen above her fear. He saw Alfred standing nearby, stoic as always, minus the slight sheen to his eyes he could not hide. He placed a gentle hand on the butler's shoulder before saying, "she's home, Alfred."<p>

Alfred nodded. "It's what she has been working towards all these years, Master Richard."

"I know." He released a weary breath. "Well, it looks like you're going to finally get those once a week family dinners you've been nagging me about all these years."

"Oh?" Alfred asked with just a hint of innocence in his tone. "Does this mean you will be coming home more often then?"

The ends of Dick's lips twitched. "Do you think she will allow it to be any other way, Alfred?"

"No, Master Richard," the butler said softly. "I do not think Miss Raya will allow it to be any other way."

_Nor will you_, the butler added silently before he retreated below with him in order to check upon his young charge.


End file.
